Predator
by ElvenPirate41
Summary: Heaven. It is something I hear of all the time and most likely will never see... Hell. It is life. Van Helsing is losing his faith, his will, and his identity...


"Predator"  
  
Work: Van Helsing   
Genre: Angst   
Character(s): Van Helsing   
Rating: PG-13  
  
Another bit of light reading, from this ElvenPirate to you. Please enjoy the angstiness, and don't forget to review on your way out!  
  
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I hunt, therefore I am.  
  
The hunt is my life, my soul, my purpose. All that I do is prey upon those who would bring darkness upon the world, and for what? The fruits of my efforts are only 'Wanted' posters with my face on them, the occasional fresh scar, and new assignments from Jinette. I have the blood of countless years on my hands, and I remember none of them.  
  
I wonder if I ever was a child, if I ever was pure or innocent, or if I was simply created to complete the dirty work that cardinals and bishops would never dare to speak of outside of their little society. I certainly find it hard to imagine a time when I had no cares or burdens to carry, far heavier than anything that Carl and his team of inventors could ever conjure up.  
  
Is it better to have no memories at all, I wonder? Would the sheer knowledge of all that I have done simply destroy me? Jinette seems to hold the opinion that the erasure of my memory is done out of mercy. What kind of mercy is this? Absolving? At times I find it more than a bit ironic that I work in the name of God but commit the unspeakable without a second thought.  
  
I have killed monsters and innocents alike; they have all become the same to me. I feel virtually nothing when I kill anymore, just a distant tugging at where my heart once was. Bring someone back alive? No, thank you. If you will drive me closer to inhumanity with every assignment, Jinette, then please do not expect me to understand the value of a soul which could be saved.  
  
Mine certainly is beyond that point.  
  
Jinette certainly cannot know the frustration that I feel on the rare occasions that a stray memory slips through the webs of forgetfulness that have been placed on me. A tower, unfamiliar constellations, a scream far below. The face of a woman. Was she good or evil? Did she love me; did I her?  
  
Did I kill her?  
  
Love is for fools, and friendship is overrated. I loved Anna, truly I did, and all that came of it was death. I imagined I saw her face in the sky as we burned her body over the Sea which she had never seen, telling me with a gentle smile that all was well. It was probably just wishful thinking, probably the great and unfamiliar feeling of guilt that tormented me. Carl tried to comfort me, but he would not meet my eyes and I know he thinks me murderer, just like everyone else.  
  
If I become close to others, the pain will become greater. I can only hurt, and it is better to hurt my enemies or even myself rather than those I care for.  
  
Jinette had congratulated me on a job well done upon my return, and was barely deterred by the detail of Anna's death.  
  
"She is in Heaven now, with her family. She is happy," he had said unconcernedly, and I had resisted the urge to hurt the cardinal. The thought had crossed my mind that his red robes would hide the blood well.  
  
See what you and your predecessors have made me, Jinette?  
  
Heaven. It is something I hear of all the time and most likely will never see. As a worker for God – or so I am told – I should be above eternal damnation for my crimes, but as his worker on earth I expect to be caught in this wretched limbo forever. I am tempted to tell Jinette that his idea of God has become rather a foreign concept to me; it is like peasants working for a lord they never see, but paying taxes and giving labor nonetheless. His expression would be quite amusing, I would think. No doubt he would go on about how my faith is slipping, and then he would make me say some number of Hail Marys and Our Fathers and expect my skepticism to vanish.  
  
Hell. It is life. When the need to end life rules one's very existence, there is not much point to life at all, is there? Hell is cradling the body of a beautiful woman in my arms, knowing it was I who stole her youth away. They said Dracula was as the Devil incarnate, but I would fight him until the end of time if only it would bring my Anna back, just for a moment. I would walk Hell a thousand times through to understand my purpose and to find peace. Aside from the fire and brimstone bit, I expect I would find it much as this waking world – full of darkness and pain.  
  
I hunt, therefore I am.  
  
It is all I have ever known, and I suppose it is all I am good for.  
  
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Note 1: The quote "I hunt, therefore I am" is taken from Metallica's "Of Wolf and Man."  
  
Note 2: If any Catholic readers found anything in here offensive, that was not my intent at all! The object was merely to express Van Helsing beginning to lose his faith, and I am in no way scorning Catholicism. Just trying to be PC, guys, since it seems so important in today's world... ::sigh::  
  
Note 3: Hey! Why dontcha review? Huh? Huh? ::puppy dog eyes:: 


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